


Wreck of the Day

by rubygirl29



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wrenched back and a stressful day nearly cripple John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wreck of the Day

John hurt.. He didn't want to show how much to Samantha Carter during the mission debrief. The mission itself had gone wrong in more ways than he could count. Losing two Marines to a Wraith booby-trap was not in the plans. Having Lorne down with a concussion made him feel a little sick. Being thrown against a rock wall by a Wraith drone, nearly fed on, and barely bringing his team home alive ... it wasn't something he wanted on his record.

Colonel Carter closed the door to her office as she entered. "Sit down, John."

"I'll stand." He'd stand only because he was afraid if he sat down, he wouldn't be able to get up again. His back felt like it had been caught in a vise and twisted into a knot. If he could stay on his feet long enough to give Carter the basic poinst and fill in the details later, he'd count it as a win. If not, he'd just add that to the long list of how fucked up this day had been.

"What happened out there?" Carter asked. "It wasn't supposed to be like that."

"I know that." He rubbed at his forehead. "Somehow, the Wraith were waiting when we came through the gate. They must have monitored our transmissions about the possibility of a ZPM on the planet -- which turned out to be bad intel to begin with. There's only one individual who would deliberately lead us into a Wraith trap, and it's not Todd."

"Michael?"

"Possibly. Probably."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Have you seen Dr. Keller?"

"I'm fine. Just sore."

"Lorne?"

"He has a headache and Dr. Keller wants him in the infirmary overnight to keep an eye on him."  


"Ronon?"

"He's fine. If not for him, we'd have been left in the lurch. He brought us home. You saw that."

"I'll make it a point to write him up favorably in the report to SGC."

"Good." He wondered if he could make his way through the door without crying like a baby. "I'll have the complete report to you tomorrow."

"Thank you." She sighed. "Nothing that happened was your fault, John. You couldn't have known about Michael. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"The Wraith already did a pretty good job of it." He tried to make it a joke. It sounded lame to him, but he saw nothing but concern in Sam Carter's eyes. "I just need a shower and some sleep, that's all."

Sam _could_ order him to report to Keller, but she didn't. "I trust you know your limitations," she sighed.

"Sure." He knew them, he just didn't want to acknowledge them. This wasn't serious enough to even make him blink. Cry, yeah. But blink? He was tougher than that. Even as he turned to leave, he had to bite his lip to keep from making a sound like a little girl getting her pigtails pulled.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
John moved slowly along the corridor to the nearest transport, immensely grateful that he didn't have to walk far to get there. He stood outside his door, his back feeling like his nerves and muscles were on fire, and wishing he could will his door open. He lifted his arm, passed it weakly over the control, and stumbled inside.

He wanted to drop to the floor, to his bed, but some small, sane voice in his head told him to man up and get into the shower. He stank of sweat, dust and the blood from one of the Marine who had died in his arms. He stripped slowly, wincing at the cramping in his back, nearly falling over when his abused muscles went in to a spasm.

Ronon found him clinging to the edge of his mattress. "Sheppard!" He hurried over, his hand going to his radio set.

John stopped him. "Call Keller and I'll shoot you," he gasped. "It's just a back spasm."

Ronon looked at him. "You're a mess."

"Thanks, buddy. I needed that pep talk." He started to drag himself to his feet and somehow ended up in Ronon's arms being half-carried to the bathroom. He leaned against the wall while Ronon took off his boots, stripped off his fatigues and shoved him under the spray of water and steam.

"Ouch!" John gasped as the water hit him. "That's hot!"

Ronon turned him to direct the spray full on his back. "You're black and blue from your shoulders to your waist. You need the heat. Shut up and let me take care of you." He sounded so taut, so angry that John subsided and let Ronon clean him, his hands surprisingly gentle despite his rough voice. The soap slid down his body as Ronon washed him. There was no intimacy in his touch other than that simple care. John closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the shower wall. He lost himself in Ronon's ministrations. By the time he was done, John felt weak and lightheaded with relief. The water slowed and stopped. John opened his eyes.

Ronon's hair was beaded with water and curling from the humidity. His tunic was soaked. John was too numbed, too overwhelmed by everything to point that out, to make his usual comment. The look in Ronon's eyes would have stopped him anyway. John felt a flush rising in his cheeks. They had been lovers, equals in so much, but never in this tender care. Ronon wrapped him in a towel. His features were blurred by steam or tears. He wiped John's face.

"Go. There's some pain pills on the table. Take two and go lie down on your stomach. Don't argue, Sheppard."

"Yeah?" But there was no force behind the word. John found the pills, took them, and fell into bed. The heat had loosened his muscles, but he could still feel pain along his spine. He was a afraid to breathe. He stayed still, his breathing shallow, and waited for the pain medication to kick in.

Ronon emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. He looked at the table, checking to see that John had taken the pills.

"I took then," John said. "Thanks."

"Not done yet. Just lay still, will you?" He pulled the towel gently down John's back and straddled him. John tensed and Ronon trailed a hand across his shoulders. "Easy. Nothing's going to happen." He leaned forward and John felt his warm breath on the back of his neck. His thumb stroked down the nape of John's neck. "Okay?"

John sighed. Ronon's strong, warm hands rested on his shoulders and he began a soothing massage, the pressure gentle but firm. "If it hurts, tell me and I'll ease up."

"Mff," John couldn't even formulate a coherent response. All he felt was the heat of Ronon's hands, the light press of his palms deepening as he felt the muscles begin to relax.

"You're too thin," Ronon said as his hands spanned John's ribcage. If his voice hadn't been so soft, John would have argued that it wasn't like he had time to eat these days. Right now, Ronon's concern made it sound like an endearment, and John was too far under the spell of drugs and massage to voice an objection.

Ronon's hands slowed, his touch became lighter until it was nothing more than a feather brush across John's skin. He didn't say anything. He slid to the side and covered them both with a blanket, then stripped away the damp towels. John wanted him closer, something Ronon seemed to intuit. He pulled John into the hollow of his body, drawing him close so that John's back was pressed against the heat of his chest and hard stomach.

John sighed. Skin to skin felt good. The ghosts of the day receded like the pain. One thought nagged at him. "Did you check up on Lorne?"

"He's got a headache and double vision. He'll be in the infirmary for a while. He needs the rest," Ronon whispered, close to John's ear. "You, too. Beckett's orders."

"Yeah," John's breath sighed out as his eyes closed. He relaxed in Ronon's arms. Right now, when he needed it, Ronon was there giving care and comfort. In the morning, he might need and want something else. A faint smile curved his lips. Ronon would be there for that as well. The painful memories of the day blurred into the darkness of dreamless, healing sleep.

 **The End**


End file.
